Her name was Maggie. (I think.) She was a shirttail cousin or was married to a shirttail cousin of my grandmother, who was born in 1901 and who has been gone from this world for over 35 years. This woman appears in a handful of old photos from when my grandparents were young—before they had kids and had to buckle down.
I wonder what compelled this woman to mug for my granddad’s camera, behind the wheel of this car while wearing a full-pelt fox stole around her neck, with her little dog gamely playing right along. And what was the name of that little dog in the backseat? Did Maggie ever get to see this photo and have a good laugh about it? I hope she did. I can see her in my mind’s eye, throwing her head back and belting out a belly laugh. Ha, ha, ha-ha-ha!
I wish there was some way to tell Maggie she made my day when I came across her photo in the trunk. I wish I could pick up the phone and ask my granddad about this photo. If I could, I wonder if he would even remember having taken it.
On this clear, moonless evening, I find myself wondering about things for which I will never have answers.